


Dirt in the Water

by Southernsassafrastea



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 07:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5859709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Southernsassafrastea/pseuds/Southernsassafrastea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post DA2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirt in the Water

Clean water was a luxury in Kirkwall. The damage from the Chantry explosion had disrupted even the sturdiest of pipes in Hightown and moved soil in the wells of Low. The Waking Sea, visible from nearly every vantage called out like a siren. Beautiful to look at but even a bairn knew better than to drink from her.

Donnic led the last of the caravans down from the Vinmarks. He was tired. He was filthy. He wished against hope that somehow Aveline had pulled through with repairing infrastructure in the city. Something. Anything to lift the water ration. Bad enough to not even give clothes their weekly washing but worse still when he’d taken to shaving his armpits to try and stem the stench.

His horse plodded along, jingling with every step as armor creaked. His hand stayed on the pommel of his sword, wary of an ambush of desperate souls. They’d lost a wagon a few weeks back. Coterie he thought. They’d ambushed, killed good guards, and left into the dark without a trace.

The accompanying patrol had been doubled since, and Donnic spent a few restless nights thinking of children in Darktown without water because of his inability to protect. He would have spent more, but Aveline had caught wind of his ill mood. Maker bless the woman, she wouldn’t allow anyone to sulk for long. Not when there was so much riding on the guard.

The twin statues over the harbor came in sight and with them a raucous cheer from the docks as they saw the caravan. Aveline was fair, despite the anger Hightown had over it, with water distribution. Lords and urchins had the same amount and no one, not even the interim Viscount would move her from the position.

It was well after dark before Donnic made it back to the little house at the edge of Hightown. Brown eyes lingered on the marigolds outside the door, or what had been marigolds before the Chantry explosion. Aveline was no farmer, but she babied the plants. Talking and humming to them as she worked. When the water crises passed, and it would pass... the guardsman had every intent of getting Aveline new flowers. Even if he had to ship them from Cumberland and have his mother plant them to surprise her.

Aveline of course was nowhere to be found. Or rather she was everywhere. He’d caught a flash of red hair in the distance when he’d brought the water in. Heard the Fereldan timbre of her voice when he sat down evening rations in the barracks. An argument by the sound of it, no doubt another fight with the Viscount over how the city was being repaired. Seen her notes on the edges of the roster, jots of information about earlier patrols.

He knew she was working with the Merchant’s Guild. Had been for weeks trying to repair the water and taking full advantage of contacts from Ser Tethras to get the city back on its feet. There was a hope, albeit a slight one that she’d make it home tonight. It had been too long since they’d been together long enough to talk, let alone sleep in the same bed.

The horizon was still a pale gray. The sun not yet stretching out its limbs to bring light into Kirkwall. Donnic was snoring, loudly snoring dead center of the tick mattress. He was on top of the bed clothes and naked as a newborn in a lame attempt to not spend the bulk of the night sweating like a sinner in the Chantry.

It was pants that woke him. Rather it was Aveline throwing his pants so hard they popped loudly across his arse that woke him.

The effect was immediate. One hand reached for the pants, another for the dagger under his pillow as he rolled to the floor in a single movement. Brown eyes rose to meet the green that steadily watched him before it dawned that Aveline was stripped to his shirt over her breeks and both were sopping wet.

A brow rose in question.

“Guard Captain?”

She grinned widely. “Get your pants on Guardsman. Kirkwall has fresh water and I want to act a fool in it with my husband.”

He chuckled, setting aside the dagger to pull thin wool over his hips. Maker bless his wife for being obstinate. Kirkwall, he was in her debt.

“As you say Aveline. As you say.”


End file.
